Kindred Spirit
by White Rose Withering
Summary: He wasn’t sure what made him pick her out of the nameless crowds. Leant against the stone railing, head angled down and shoulders shaking with what he assumed were sobs. Something deep inside of him, perhaps, seeking a kindred spirit. Post 5:05.


**Disclaimer: Spooks and all it's characters belong to Kudos and the BBC**

**Author's Note: Another Post _5:05_ fic, one day I will do something different I promise. It's funny how the smallest things stick in your head - _snow, leather gloves, a car crash_ - and before you know it, you're watching your pen write god knows what for you and you're just hoping it makes sense.  
Thankies to Em, for pointing out a few mistakes - I swear, I do read it back!  
So enjoy, and please don't forget to leave a review!! **

**This one is for everyone who wants to be kissed in the snow...**

**Kindred Spirit**

A bitterly cold wind whipped around him as he stepped off the bridge, his feet struggling to find a decent foothold on the wet pavement. It caught the tips of his scarf and tugged at it so that it tightened around his throat. He winced at the uncomfortable pressure and loosened it with nimble, leather encased fingers before tucking it inside his coat.

He hated wearing the scarf. Not only was it a Christmas present from an old acquaintance that seemed hell bent on renewing the unwanted friendship, but it was as though wearing it admitted that he needed it. That he felt the cold this winter more than he usually did.

Storm clouds gathered over head; thick, grey and pendulous. Snow flakes, far too heavy to dance in the cool breeze, fell around him with all the grace of a stone. Everywhere he looked a blanket of slushy white covered the ground.

He thrust his hands into the depths of his pockets and set off along the embankment. He followed the worn path through the snow, stopping every so often to shake the excess slush from his shoes. As the icy cold in his toes spread to the rest of his feet and he cursed himself for not waiting for his driver.

Truth be told, he wanted to get away from that place as soon possible. Juliet's back handed and harsh comments, and even harsher truths about his staff's mental state, not to mention his own operational capabilities, had affected him more than he liked to admit. Verging on throwing a tantrum, he had waltzed out of Thames House with an ever growing chip on his shoulder and no patience to wait in the cold for his car.

Sometimes he wondered why he didn't just quit while he was ahead. Then he would look himself in the mirror and wish for her stormy eyes to stare back at him, and he knew why.

Couples strolled down the white covered walkway, their eyes locked, fingers entwined. Lips bruised and swollen from warm kisses to keep out the cold. In the days following her disappearance, _"her death"_ - he couldn't bring himself to say her name anymore, there were far too many memories, too many _what ifs_ – he had felt bitterness towards those same, adoring couples that he walked alongside. Bitterness that they were happy when he was not. But as time slipped by, like sand through an hourglass, the bitter feeling fell away, leaving behind only a sense of mild indifference. And on a good day, though they were few and far between, he would smile for them. Happy to see people together in a world so often shaped by separation and isolation.

He wasn't sure what made him pick her out of the nameless crowds. Leant against the stone railing, head angled down and shoulders shaking with what he assumed were sobs. Something deep inside of him, perhaps, seeking a kindred spirit. Someone who understood what it was like to muddle through life with the same forced smile on their face and the hallow numbness in the back of their mind. Locked away but never really forgotten.

He shook his head to rid himself of the foolish notion, and blamed the cold for his train of thought. He set his shoulders rigid, and bowed his head, ready to bid his mourning stranger goodnight and to disappear into the ether like all the other spooks, when he saw it out of the corner of his eye.

The turn of her head.

The air rushed from his lungs, turning to blue swirls in the cold, as though he had taken a blow to the chest and a lump formed in his throat. In the dim light and the thick, white haze, he could have been forgiven for being mistaken, for thinking it was her. A heavy and wishful heart looking, wishing for the impossible. And he might have believed it, might have turned away and kept walking had he not seen her eyes. Those blue, blue eyes that reminded him of the skies before a storm. Those serene eyes that had haunted him for months. Ever since that cool, crisp morning beside the docks when he had kissed those eyes and their beautiful, naïve, owner goodbye.

"Ruth." It fell from his lips in a whisper. So soft that it might have been lost in the wind. But he heard it, heard himself say it after so long. He had almost forgotten how he loved to say her name. "Ruth!" He raised his voice above the blizzard, not caring if faceless strangers turned to stare.

All that mattered was her.

Suddenly, she saw him. Recognition flashed across her face as she picked him out of the crowd. She pushed away from the railings and her mouth moved to form his name.

He fancied he could hear it above the storm, and it was just the spur he needed.

His shoes hit the pavement with wet slaps, the snow crunched beneath his heavy steps. He fought to breathe past the lump in his throat as he pushed through the human traffic, ignoring their muttered complaints and insults. His warm eyes never once leaving her stormy ones.

It was only when he stopped and stood not a foot from her, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body, that he let his gaze wander over her.

How happy and terribly sad she looked all at once, he thought, as she looked at him but refused to meet his gaze. She was thinner than she had been the last time he saw her, her coat drawn tight around her frame. Though her mouth was parted in a half smile, it did little to disguise the cruel tears that rolled down her cheeks. She had black circles around her eyes from where her make up had run, but deeper than that, there were dark smudges under the line of her lashes that only came from a lack of sleep.

"Ruth…" He tried and faltered as another tear joined its mate upon her upper lip. He wanted to take her face in his hands and wipe it away, but was afraid to move for fear of scaring her. Words gathered on the tip of his tongue. There should have been something to tell her, the truth no matter how dangerous, but it sounded clumsy. She deserved better than that. "What is it? What's happened?"

She looked into his eyes and felt herself falling into their honeyed depths. She lost her hold on reasonable, rational thought. Carefully planned sentences twisted and turned inside out, until all she could think about was his eyes and how beautiful they were.

She raised her hand to touch his face but stopped just above the silken skin of his cheek. "I'd almost made myself forget…"

"What?" Worry creased his brow. He closed the gap between them and took her gently by the shoulders. His fingers digging into the soft, damp material of her coat, just enough for her to feel it. "Ruth?" There was a tremble in his voice that only she could inflict upon him.

She felt his warmth though the think layer of his gloves and found herself wondering what that supple leather would feel like buried within her hair, against her bare skin. She knew, without being 100 sure, that it would be soft enough to bring a sigh to her lips.

She shook her head and tried to focus on the expression on his face, and her own crumpled. She felt the hot prickle of tears and she fought to keep her eyes wide to stop them from falling. It had been a long time since she had seen concern for her wellbeing; she was out of practice with dealing with it.

"It's my mother. She…Oh god, Harry," she choked through the tears and touched the back of her pale hand to her cheek. Even with her voice so full of anguish, he loved the way she said his name. "She died this afternoon in a car crash."

His heart ached for her and he pulled her into his arms, his hands going to the small of her back, holding her against him as she cried. She clutched at him, fingernails digging into the soft velvet of his collar. She pressed her cheek against his, firm enough for him to feel the sting of tears, and she whispered against his ear. Telling him the details of her mother's last moments and the phone call she had received just a few hours previous. Her voice was so hoarse at times that she sounded a little incoherent, but he understood what he needed to; what she wanted him to.

He didn't question why or how, he just held her. And when sobs wracked her body, harsh and choking, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent and waited for them to subside.

She pulled back enough to look up at his face, her wide eyes searching his. For what, he didn't know. He was just glad to have her in his arms.

He raised a sleek, gloved hand and smoothed her hair back from her forehead, before brushing his lips lightly across her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed under the weight of his touch. "Are you alright, Ruth?" It was a stupid question, inappropriate, but he needed to ask it.

Her eyes danced beneath her closed, black lashes. "It puts everything in perspective," she said absently, lifting her head just enough for the tip of her nose to graze his.

"What does?" He asked, though he thought he already knew the answer.

"The crash," she said and let her tongue sweep over her trembling bottom lip. "It made me see how…short life is, how precious. How we can regret so much." There was so much feeling behind the latter that he pulled back to study her.

He watched her eyes flicker from mere inches away from his own, and his pulse raced at what he saw there, shining within those blue, blue depths. He had to try twice before he could find his voice. "And what do you regret, Ruth?" He drew it out, his honeyed tone caressing her name like a lover.

"I regret running away." She spoke just above his mouth, so that a breath too deep would bring their lips together in a gentle kiss. Being that close to her, he couldn't help but notice that familiar perfume that always clung to her. The sweet, almost edible scent of vanilla. "From my heart and the man who held it. And always will."

He brushed his lips against hers, slowly, like silk rubbing against her mouth, and let her set the pace. She pressed herself against the length of his body, her hands at the back of his neck, drawing him into the kiss. His arms tightened around her as his mouth fed at hers, biting down, sucking gently on her bottom lip, leaving them both trembling and breathless.

She drew away from him, eyes closed, lips swollen and pouted. Colour seeped into her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold and her breast heaved with every breath she took. She had never looked more beautiful.

"Oh Ruth." A slow, lazy smile tugged up the corners of her mouth as he took her face in his hands. His gloved thumbs slid over her flushed cheeks, wiping away her remaining tears. She had been right, the leather was the softest she'd ever felt and she leant into it. "You did mean me, didn't you?"

Laughter bubbled out of her throat like warm champagne. "Yes, you," she said, drowsily, as though she were still under the influence of his kiss. "Take me home, Harry."

He sighed; a breathy, contented sound. He had waited so long to hear her say that. "I thought you would never ask."

_The End._


End file.
